He thinks about her when he's in the shower - his favorite blonde. That witch. He lets the water rush down his body, turning his skin bright red from the heat. This is his routine. The water is always scalding hot and burns blisters into his flesh. If I'm too busy thinking about these scars, I won't be thinking about her.
He can't help himself when he imagines her hands running across his body when he washes. He starts to vigorously scrub away at his skin and hair, trying desperately to release her from his mind. God damn that woman. She'll never know what she does to me.
He stands motionless for a while, his hands resting on the tiles in front of him. He lets the shower scald him, rousing him back to his senses. He does this every morning in preparation of seeing her. The way she waltzes into the mansion sets his heart afire for her. Their blazing eyes meet when they fight and all he can think of is grabbing the woman and having his way with her.
Damn! He grabs his head and claws at his scalp. Get out of my head, witch! I should hate you! And he does, but he also loves her very much. And every day he finds it more and more difficult to be around her without drawing her into his arms and claiming her lips. He sighs and turns off the water. He wraps his waist in a towel and continues to ready himself for the soon-to-be busy morning – preparing himself to see her.
She thinks of him in the shower every morning. The water is cool and refreshing. It drips down her skin and pools in her collarbones; creating a waterfall down her arms and chest. She sits on the floor of her shower with her back against the wall, wanting to cry and scream and pull her hair from her head. Why can't I ever stop thinking about him? I'm out of my mind!
Each morning, she gives in to her fantasies and smoothly runs her hands along her body, pretending they belong to him. She imagines them to be rough and worked, but she likes it – he would take control. She glides her soapy fingers along her arms and legs; her eyes are closed.
She spends a long time in the shower every morning before work. She never really knows just what to think, so she sits there thoughtless; imagining his lips smirking at her, then kissing her soundly. She often finds herself smiling when she thinks of him, and swiftly stops to chastise herself. Stop dallying with the help, C.C.! She can hear her mother's sick voice pounding laws into her head.
She shuts off the water and shivers. She quickly pats herself dry and continues to get ready for work, always nervous about seeing him. Her cheeks flush – thinking of the way she slid her hands all over herself, pretending to be him. She has to look him in the face every day; remembering these moments in the shower. That's why she uses cold water each morning – she would rather shiver in his presence than sweat or faint. At least, this way she can blame it on his horrifying face or his atrocious breath, something- anything to hide her affection towards him. She sends a brush through her tangled, dripping locks, getting ready for the day – preparing herself to see him.